My Obsession
by Ilse'sPurpleSummer
Summary: Sting/DDP. Sting saved him over and over again, and asked for nothing in return. What he got was more than he'd ever dreamed.


Sting peered down at the ring from his usual perch in the rafters, his black and white painted face completely still. He was tired of all the egos, he was tired of Hogan, Nash, and Hall, of Eric Bishoff, especially. The whole group of them made him sick. As far as he was concerned, there was only one redeeming person in the business. The one person he kept saving over and over. Diamond Dallas Page. His one reason for living.

Oh, he knew he was a little insane. His obsession with Dallas was the only thing keeping him going. He lived for the moments he saved him, those were the only moments he even felt alive. The announcers would yell that he saved him because "Page is WCW" and he let them think that. Easier that way.

Sting didn't stick to the rafters. He slid through the hallways of the WCW arenas like a ghost, following Dallas from the parking deck to the locker room, then he would climb up into the rafters to watch the show. He paid close attention to the match Dallas was in, and breathed a sigh of relief when it went off without a hitch.

For a while, he didn't intervene. He stayed perched in the rafters, a silent guardian. The New World Order continued their nefarious ego trip, but as long as they left Dallas alone, Sting left them alone. He watched with interest as a brawl began in the ring, the New World Order against WCW. He leaned forward, his heart thumping as Dallas ran into the melee. He watched him hold his own for a few moments, then he saw Hogan punch Dallas in the face and throw him out of the ring. Dallas landed hard on the floor. He didn't move. Sting grabbed the baseball bat he kept with him and leapt off the rafters, swooping down until he was next to Dallas. He shrugged off his harness, then stood over Dallas protectively, pointing the bat at the men in the ring, daring any one of them to try and touch Dallas. Savage came at him and he attacked him with the bat, beating him until he didn't move anymore. He bent over Dallas, hooking him up into the harness. He whacked Luger, then tugged on the rope. It retracted, sending him and Dallas shooting back up into the rafters. Sting pulled him into his alcove, a small area carved out into the side of the building.

He was still unconscious when Sting laid him out. Sting checked his pulse, which was still beating fairly strong, so he just decided to wait it out rather than risk running into Hogan or his disciples. He couldn't help but stare at Dallas now that he had the object of his obsession right next to him. He stared at him, his eyes roving over Dallas. He reached out a trembling hand and traced the diamond shaped tattoo on his arm, over his shoulder, and into his curly blond hair. He closed his eyes at the soft feel of it. He trailed his fingers over Dallas's cheek and onto his chest so he could feel the steady rise and fall. He closed his eyes and tried to control his still trembling fingers. His hand seemed to move on it's own, down to Dallas's belt buckle. He moved his fingers lightly over the front of Dallas's pants where he could feel a slight bulge. He knew he was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. He rubbed gently, gasping a little when the bulge grew bigger and firmer. He couldn't deny the effect this was having on his body as well. Dallas stirred and Sting drew his hand back quickly. He slipped out of the alcove before Dallas could wake up, find him there, and assume the worst.

As the weeks dragged on, Sting watched Dallas ever more diligently. He saved him again and again, this time fleeing as soon as he knew Dallas was safe. He couldn't allow himself to be alone with Dallas for too long- he couldn't let himself lose control again. Dallas made it too easy for him to do that. He knew people were starting to whisper backstage, what was so special about Dallas that made Sting save him over and over again? Sting knew it was a question he would never answer, at least not out loud.

One night he saved Dallas, and before he could get away Dallas's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. They stared into each others' eyes for what felt like a millennium. Sting could see the questions in Dallas's eyes, and he could only hope that his own eyes weren't giving away any answers. He pulled his arm away and left silently, his heart beating against his ribs like a caged bird.

The night Dallas came to find him was the beginning and the end. He was perched in the rafters as usual. A hand clapped on his shoulder, spinning him around. It was Dallas.

"Why me, huh?" he growled in his husky voice. "No one knows. Everyone is asking. Now I'm asking. You keep saving me over and over. I wanna know what you're playing at." Sting just stared at him.

"Can't you talk anymore? Did you rip out your vocal cords when you left us behind?" Sting shook his head. "For god's sake, tell me what the hell is going through your head right now!" Dallas exclaimed. Sting leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dallas's. Once he felt that electric shock pulsing through his system, he knew there was no turning back. He kept kissing Dallas, who just went limp, seeming shocked. Sting took advantage of this by laying Dallas down and covering him with his body. Amazingly, Dallas began to kiss him back, fisting his hands in Sting's hair and pulling him closer. Sting rubbed his crotch against Dallas's, and nearly died when Dallas rubbed back, moaning into Sting's mouth. It felt incredible, and Dallas tasted like sin. Dallas began rubbing against him faster, and Sting could feel himself quickly losing control. He pressed Dallas's hips into the floor with his own, bringing the pace back down, biting at Dallas's neck until Dallas's eyes were nearly rolling into the back of his head with desire. Only then did Sting press his erection hard against Dallas's and grind against him fast, rolling his hips until Dallas came apart, groaning out Sting's name like it was a prayer, and Sting came silently, his body shaking. As soon as Dallas let go of him, he was gone.

The next few weeks were a strange reversal of the last few: instead of Sting following Dallas, Dallas followed him. However, no one could find Sting if he didn't want to be found. He kept to the rafters, swooping up before everyone got there and not coming down until everyone was gone. He roamed the buildings, haunted by his moment with Dallas. He had no earthly idea if Dallas regretted it, loved it, loved him, hated him. The not knowing was driving him insane (more than usual) but he couldn't bring himself to confront Dallas about it.

After a two months, it seemed that Dallas had sussed out all of his tricks, because when he ascended the rafters in the next building, he was waiting. Sting froze, staring at him. Before he could even think about opening his mouth, Dallas was on him, his lips soft and warm against Sting's. He felt that same electric feeling coursing through his veins. He grabbed Dallas back, pinning him against the wall, pinning his hands to his sides as he moved to Dallas's neck, biting hard enough that he knew a mark would form there. He bit another mark into his shoulder before ripping his shirt clean off. He ran his hands down Dallas's chest, hardly even hearing the gasp of breath. He dug his fingernails into the skin near Dallas's waist, dimly registering the moan Dallas let out. He did it again, this time starting at Dallas's neck, dragging his fingernails all the way down to his belt line this time. Dallas dropped his head against Sting's shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Without speaking, they moved together again, kissing and biting and rubbing against each other until they were both a ragged mess. Sting was about to leave again, but Dallas grabbed his arm, shaking his head.

"Come with me," he said. Sting cocked his head. "To my hotel," Dallas added. Sting shook his head. "I don't care who sees," Dallas said, exasperated. After a moment of hesitation, Sting nodded.

When they got to the hotel, Sting glanced around the room. It was the nicest room he'd ever been in. Dallas noticed him staring, and smiled.

"Perks of bring a champ," he said softly, dropping his duffel next to the rest of his bags. "I know there's only one bed, although I hoped we wouldn't be doing much sleeping, to be honest..." he trailed off. "I'm rambling," he said softly, "but you make me nervous. You never talk, but then again, you don't really need to, I understand you." Sting inclined his head in Dallas's direction, wanting to hear more. Dallas grinned. "See, right there," he said. "You want me to tell you more about how I understand you." Sting smiled. "See, I knew it," Dallas chuckled. Sting smiled wider, astonished at how... _normal_ this felt. Almost like they were a real couple who did normal things like tease each other. He wanted to speak, to tell Dallas how much he meant to him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Dallas crossed the room to him, touching his cheek gently.

"Anyway, as far as I can figure, I think I'm falling in love with you," he said quietly. Sting's eyes widened, and he pressed his lips to Dallas's, gentler than he ever had. Dallas kissed him back, eyelids fluttering shut against Sting's cheek. After a few moments, Sting pulled back, opened his mouth, and finally spoke three words, three words that mattered most.

"I love you."


End file.
